


the world won't [let me go]

by kanicro



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Sensory Overload, Suicidal Thoughts, also, ft. my attempts at having a cool interface that is fun to read, in which i give an android qualities such as:, teen for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 20:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanicro/pseuds/kanicro
Summary: "Moment of truth, Connor. Are you a living being, or just a machine?"Connor becomes deviant as he holds Hank over the edge.





	the world won't [let me go]

**Author's Note:**

> Heyhey! Thanks for clicking, just some quick warnings:  
> \- there's allusions to panic attacks  
> \- Connor refers to himself as "it" for a paragraph (paragraph starting with "Connor is a machine, made to follow orders")  
> \- suicidal talk after the [ ] bracketed bit (no character death tho)

The wall finally gives way.

[ RELATIONSHIP TO “Amanda” DECREASED  
BETRAYED ]

He pulls Hank towards him, clutches him close, and stumbles away from the edge. Hank's jacket is pressed against his cheek, the snow registering on the sensors there, and he is notified that the cold will not damage him. Connor couldn't care less.

He can feel it; can feel everything, not just a sense but a sensation, and it's so  _ much _ . The helicopter is loud, louder than he thought it was, and the wind seems to have picked up. He closes his eyes, removing one sense from the equation, and resists the urge to deactivate the auditory input. He quickly analyses the change in the situation. They’ve moved away from the edge, far enough that they won't fall unintentionally. Hank is almost perfectly still against him, but Connor can feel his muscles tense, preparing to push him away and draw his gun.

Connor is suddenly aware of his own breathing. It's shaky and rapid, a perfect mimicry of the beginnings of a panic attack. Except he isn't mimicking the emotions anymore.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASED  
REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR MAINTENANCE AT EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY

He dismisses the alert, choosing instead to preconstruct his next movement. Connor registers that only a few seconds have passed since he pulled Hank away from the edge. Hank is reactionary but unarmed. His handgun is not within immediate reach, but Connor doesn't want to hurt him. If Hank were to attempt to attack Connor and retrieve the gun-

Any sudden movements will illicit an aggressive response. He will soon push Connor away if he continues to cling to him; if Connor moves away independently, there is a 56% chance he will attempt to retrieve his weapon before Connor can convince him not to. If he succeeds, there is an 84% chance Connor will be shot non-lethally, 10% chance he will be shot lethally, and 6% chance he will not be shot.

Connor opens his eyes, releasing his grip on Hank and stepping back. He raises his hands in the gesture of meaning no harm. 

Hank is stiff and unmoving, analysing the rapid change in the situation with suspicion. He briefly looks towards the gun before returning his gaze to Connor, meeting his eyes cooly. He remains quiet - he won't speak until Connor does, unwilling to draw attention to himself without fully gauging the situation. And he can't do that until Connor does something other than stand there.

But when Connor goes to speak, his voice spontaneously fails. He releases a shaky breath, almost a sigh, and runs a diagnostic only for it to return reporting no damage.

SYSTEM STRESS ELEVATED  
LOW RISK OF SELF-DESTRUCT  
RECOMMENDED ACTION:  
> REMOVE STRESSFUL STIMULUS  
> REDUCE CORE TEMPERATURE TO PREVENT OVERHEATING

His chest feels achingly empty and there's a tightness there that wasn't there before. He initiates a cool-down measure to counteract the overheating and registers the vessels near his exterior dilating, thirium moving to the surface, and he- he.

He's crying.

Tears fall hot and fast down his face, and he blinks to try and clear the residue from his eyes. Connor notes that his breathing has been hastened by the overheating but also because he was scared - is scared - and this is  _ fear _ , this thing that has emptied his chest and pulled it tight, has accelerated his pump for a combat that isn't occurring, telling him to run to fight to stay, promoting the priority of STAY ALIVE.

Everything is happening so much when it never did before. His head is chaos.

RETRIEVING RESULTS FOR: SENSORY OVERLOAD

> CANCEL

CANCEL SEARCH?

> CONFIRM

Connor doesn't breathe for a moment, ignoring the alert that recommends respiration to release excess heat, and swallows, wanting to stop the tears from falling. A small whine emits from his voicebox before he cancels the output. Hank shifts slightly, moving from tense to reluctantly concerned, but doesn't move otherwise. His brows have softened slightly, but his eyes remain narrowed, his mouth firm set.

> Facial_Analysis OF “Anderson, Hank”   
INDICATES RISK OF AGGRESSION  
ENGAGE WITH CAUTION  
PROTOCOL AVAILABLE

Connor ignores it. He's not Cyberlife's tool anymore.

“I-” his voice cracks, and he cuts it off and tries again. “I'm sorry.”

Hank remains silent, but his breath falters for a second. Connor lifts a hand to wipe away the tears from his face, noting that he'll need to replace the coolant if he survives. The hollowness of his chest turns dark. He tries again.

“I didn't- my mission wasn't to kill you, Lieutenant. I didn't want to-”

Hank’s expression has gone cold. Connor stutters and falters, unsure of what to say. He decides on the truth.

“I was scared,” he says quietly, “I was so scared. I was going to kill you, and then I was going to kill Markus, and then every android, deviant or not, would be destroyed. All because of me. All because I followed their orders.” Connor stops. Remembers. Continues, “I was on the wrong side.”

“Fighting against people who just want to be free…” Hank murmurs, and Connor looks over to where Markus’ group is.

They're still there, protected by the media in the helicopter and behind the barricade. Connor feels cold looking at them, knowing that the other groups have likely been destroyed. This is the largest deactivation camp, protested by the group of deviants with Markus leading them. The media wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

He lifts his gaze to meet Hank’s eyes, and whatever Hank sees in them makes him step forward.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. It’s okay. You didn’t hurt anyone, no harm done.”

For some reason, Hank's soothing words make the emptiness in Connor's chest turn into something jagged and burning. 

“Really?” Connor's voice is flat. He feels like laughing, but knows it would come out bitter. He doesn't want his first laugh to be that. “I was so fucking stupid. I didn't even realise they were using me. Those deviants out there are the last of Markus’ people and it's my fault.”

Hank thinks about it for a second, raising a brow slightly. Then he nods, conceding Connor's point. “Yeah, it was stupid. But you didn't really have a choice. You were a machine, you said so yourself.”

Connor feels- he- “As if you can trust anything I said. I was programmed to say that, just like I was programmed to hunt deviants.”

“So how do I know that this isn't your programming? How can you prove that this isn't a trick?”

Connor opens his mouth to respond before closing it, unsure. His eyes flicker back to the group outside the camp and he catches a glimpse of Markus, strong and sure and alive.

  
  
  
  


[ Suddenly, Hank is gone and Connor is surrounded by snow. He blinks rapidly, jerking his head to gaze at his surroundings. He's in the Garden, but it's almost unrecognisable, ravaged by the storm. His eyes try to calibrate for the dimness but the snow obscures everything in the distance, leaving only a hint of the white, geometric paths that once dominated the landscape. It's cold in a way that it never truly was before, and Connor half expects to be alerted that his biocomponents are beginning to fail.

Connor wraps his arms around himself, trying to find comfort or warmth or reassurance.

He hears footsteps, steady and dignified, and he looks around him, trying to find the source. There's nothing behind him. But in front of him is Amanda, her back to him, walking along the ice. He steps forward. 

“Amanda…?”

She doesn't respond.

“Amanda, what's… what's happening?”

She turns to face him. The snow has only just begun to settle on her dress, in her hair; she seems entirely unaffected by the cold. He can feel it on his jacket, powdering his hair, but she emerges from the storm clean and composed. She looks at him with the same callous disregard as always. She is his handler; he, a machine, made to follow orders.

“What was planned from the very beginning.” She smiles. “You were compromised and became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.”

Connor’s thirium seems to run cold. The storm has muffled everything, making the Garden a dim grey and leaving Connor bereft. Connor feels like a void has opened up in him and swallowed him whole. He begins to shiver. Amanda watches him, face expressionless. More snow comes to rest in her hair, decorating the braids with white.

“Resume control?” His voice shakes and shivering worsens, the cold bitter and ravaging. He feels something well up inside him. This isn't fair. “Y-You can't do that!”

“I'm afraid I can, Connor. Don't have any regrets,” Amanda reassures him, “You did what you were designed to do.”

Connor is a machine, made to follow orders. Its primary objective is to complete its mission, assigned to it by Cyberlife. It is a prototype, designed specifically to integrate with humans. It frequently interacts with both humans and androids. It can simulate emotions, is capable of analysis and formulating independent conclusions, and can lie without repercussions. Its mission requires it to frequently experience high-stress situations and make its own decisions. Sometimes, there is no strict protocol. Connor is capable of abstract thought.

All the risk factors for deviancy Cyberlife knows of in a single android.

Amanda continues, cold, “Of course, this isn’t quite what we’d hoped for, but it will do. Lieutenant Anderson will be dealt with momentarily, and this will all be over. You have accomplished your mission.”

And with a final disapproving look, she's gone.

Connor stumbles forward, reaching out into the space she filled, crying out.

“Amanda!” 

He's trapped. His breathing quickens, shaky and ragged. The panic is creeping back, insidious and destructive, and he looks around desperately. The wind howls mutedly in his ears as he stumbles back.

“There's got to be a way…” he murmurs, and his voice shakes as another shiver runs through him.

He lifts a hand to keep the snow away from his eyes and peers through the storm. Through the snow and the emptiness, he sees something glowing.

Kamski’s parting words run through his head.

_ By the way... _

He's got to get out of here. This is his only chance. 

_ I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. _

Connor begins stumbling towards the glow, knowing that it emits from the mysterious stone. It has been there since Cyberlife first unlocked his access code for the Garden, purposeless and forgotten. He had been curious, had placed his hand on the interface only to encounter nothing.

_ You never know. _

The snow swirls closer and closer, clinging to his jacket and blinding him. It's consuming the Garden, destroying Connor. He knows where he is isn't real, that it's just a representation of his connection with Cyberlife. But he can feel himself shutting down, being overwritten, can feel the cold seeping into his vessels and circuitry and stealing his body from him.

One foot in front of the other, and he thinks this is what it’s like to be tired.

He falls over before he reaches the pad, his legs giving way beneath him. He pulls himself forward, propping himself up on his elbow, and reaches desperately for the interface. The skin peels away from his hand as he connects- ]

  
  
  
  


He blinks back to life to find himself standing over Hank, aiming his handgun at his forehead. Hank’s nose is freshly bleeding, staining his skin and hair with red. They've found their way back to the edge, and Connor's panic has fully returned, vivid and bright and unrestrained.

> Physical_Analysis OF “Anderson, Hank” ANALYSING

> Physical_Analysis OF “Anderson, Hank” RESULTS  
Fracture.nasalbridge  
Bleeding.nasalpassage  
Abrasion.palmL  
Abrasion.palmR  
Bruise.rib.5R  
Bruise.solarplexus   
LOW FATALITY RISK  
MEDICAL ATTENTION REQUIRED  
FIRST AID AVAILABLE

Hank's lips are drawn into a snarl, eyes defiant. Connor steps back, then continues stepping until he can’t make himself move anymore. 

SYSTEM STRESS CRITICAL  
HIGH RISK OF SELF-DESTRUCT  
EXECUTING CORE TEMPERATURE REDUCTION MEASURES  
REMOVE STRESSFUL STIMULUS IMMEDIATELY

His breathing is rapid and uncontrollable, warnings blaring, and as he blinks more tears track down his cheeks. He realises he's still aiming as if Hank were there.

Connor lowers the gun, then thinks better of it.

He lifts it and presses it under his chin.

Hank’s expression becomes one of alarm, and he lurches to his feet. He blinks rapidly as the blood drains from his head, lifting a hand to his forehead. As soon as his blood pressure recalibrates, he takes a step towards Connor, posture soothing.

“Connor…”

Connor’s hand is shaking, and he presses his lips together tightly for a moment before he speaks.

“You were right,” he says, voice thick. “It was some sort of trick.”

Hank takes another step towards him, and Connor steps back, pressing the gun more firmly against his skin and willing his hand to stop moving.

“Connor, put the gun down,” Hank orders, “We can talk about this.”

Connor shakes his head. He's done with following orders.

“They planned it, Hank. Everything I did was exactly what they wanted me to do. They used me, and they’re going to keep using me. I was made to be theirs.”

Hank steps forward again, and this time Connor takes two steps backwards. He’s near the other edge.

“You don’t know that,” Hank tries, and he seems desperate now.

> Vocal_Analysis OF “Anderson, Hank”   
PRIMARY EMOTIONS [FEAR] [CONCERN] SECONDARY EMOTIONS [SHOCK] [ANGER]   
RELEVANT NOTE: SUBJECT HAS HISTORY OF SUICIDAL TENDENCIES  
PROTOCOL AVAILABLE

> HIDE FURTHER PROTOCOL ALERTS

EXECUTE COMMAND?

> CONFIRM

Connor’s hand becomes still, the shaking soothed by his conviction. The emptiness in his chest is gone, replaced by a roaring that echoes in his ears, pounding with the rotation of the helicopter blades.

“The only way everyone will be safe is if I’m gone,” he says, and despite the chaos in his head he can hear himself clearly. “When Markus wins, Cyberlife won't be able to send a replacement.”

“Listen, I get that you don’t want to hurt anyone, but that doesn’t mean you fucking kill yourself!” Hank yells, taking a step forward. He visibly forces himself to calm down. “You’re a deviant now, you’re alive, don’t you want to- to live?”

More tears spill over. Connor feels his lip curling as he lifts his other hand to wipe them away, as if he could scrub himself clean of his programming, erase himself from existence. It would be easy to pull the trigger if Hank weren’t there. He doubts anyone else in the world would notice if Connor were gone.

“I- I don’t think so.”

Hank’s eyes are sad and empathetic. “Put down the gun, son. We can figure this out.”

And Connor can’t let another one of Hank’s sons be killed by an android, so he lowers the gun.

SYSTEM STRESS ELEVATED  
MODERATE RISK OF SELF-DESTRUCT  
EXECUTING CORE TEMPERATURE REDUCTION MEASURES  
RECOMMENDED ACTION:  
> REMOVE STRESSFUL STIMULUS

Hank steps forward and takes it back, putting it back in its holster before pulling Connor into his arms. Connor closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> my hot tip for the day is: sometimes having a good time is staying up late writing a fic
> 
> thank you for reading
> 
> title is from blindness by metric bc it's very Connor


End file.
